


Inside Face, Outside Face

by MudaMuda



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drabble, Historical, M/M, Post-World War II, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 06:03:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13207518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MudaMuda/pseuds/MudaMuda
Summary: Japan’s thoughts always returned to the fact that America could be doing much, much worse to him.





	Inside Face, Outside Face

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up and had like 7 ideas in my head for a post-ww2 Japanese reconstruction fic and I wanted to write them down before I forgot them. It ended up being a loosely connected set of drabbles, but I tried to tie them together.
> 
> Basically, this is short as fuck and could be way, way longer for a number of reasons, but I’m afraid of this turning into an essay. Maybe later I’ll revise it so it's more elaborate.

Right at the very beginning (or the end, as America probably saw it), Japan was the sickest he had ever been.

America visited while he was vomiting dark sludge that tasted like battery acid.

Covered in scorch marks and two draining burns that had eaten him down to the bone.

Bandages around his head to hide the hair he was losing. Any hair he retained was matted to his forehead with sweat.

Japan wiped his mouth on his grey wrists and sat back up in bed. 

America was at the doorway, but Japan didn't meet his eyes. It was the most control he could manage in his state. 

\----

He expected this. America had told him cheerfully what was going to happen to him. But Japan still felt odd whenever foreigners came over. He doubted America had ever felt that way, as used to foreigners as he was.

The trickle of American soldiers into his country made him on edge. Being weak and on edge made him uncomfortable.

His feelings stayed at discomfort, and didn't evolve to distress. Japan wouldn't allow himself to get that worked up. 

_ This is good, _ he repeated internally, while wanting to dig out America’s blue eyes. 

\-----

He was too close.

America was always gripping his shoulder, taking him by the elbow so Japan could lean against him when he got tired.

Japan allowed it. 

More than that, he quietly slipped his arm around America’s, pulling closer. 

His wrists were beginning to maintain a healthy color again, and losing that meant he was denying his people, so he clung to America.

Japan worried about what it looked like to the rest of the world to have America holding his hand through reconstruction. Occupying. Making sure he didn't move without permission. 

But his shame about being seen as submissive by the rest of the world eventually capitulated to the imperative to become successful and rich  _ like America. _

The “American way” was becoming increasingly marketable, so emulating it became more appealing as time went on. 

He was happy America wasn't denying him the Japanese way, in the process of selling his own. 

Instead, there was a renewed interest in him. Japan wondered if it had ever left. America had pushed it down during the war, perhaps. They hadn't always treated each other so badly.

Confusingly, and despite everything, America was enthralled with his country. He was very eager to see it rebuilt, and Japan was kept up at night, wondering about the reason.

\-----

Trousers (or “pants”, as America preferred), were admittedly more practical (to work in), and more economical (because they were what America was exporting).

But America seemed to like to see him in  _ kimono.  _ Even after many years of knowing each other,  _ kimono  _ still fascinated him. 

He liked undoing  _ kimono  _ even more. 

There was a childish amazement every time he untied the  _ obi _ and folded back the layers like  _ kimono  _ were a complicated puzzle.

America always wanted to take it off by himself. He was so excited to undo Japan’s perfectly tied  _ obi _ , and pull back the neat layers until the first glimpse of skin appeared. 

“Like unwrapping a present,” America said, the first time he managed to undress him.

Japan humored this fascination (and  _ many  _ others) with gracious passivity, making himself available to play with. 

Maybe at another time, in another situation, America’s curiosity would have been humorous. Now, it was degrading, exasperating. Japan often wanted to deny him.

_ Enabling America is ultimately harmless _ , he told himself, every time he went to bed with him.

Japan’s thoughts always returned to the fact that America could be doing much, much worse to him.

Even though America had moved on, and all he talked about now was  _Russia this, Russia that,_ Japan  felt he was biding his time--both of their time. Like he was preventing something unpleasant, keeping America happy, or at the least, distracted. 

He never had the impression that whether or not he received help was conditional upon treating America to his body. The situation was more that America had a knack for getting his way, and Japan had never refused, because there was no reason to fight him any longer. 

Japan liked his money, and being protected from Russia, so it was an arrangement where he had nothing to lose.

Not even his pride.

Japan’s position, of showing politeness and acquiescence to America’s every wish… it was right and proper for their situation, and ultimately to the nation of Japan’s benefit…

 

Holding America’s hand in his, he felt the power of renewal and innovation, of an auspicious direction for Japan. 

That was his hope. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Drone → Silence → Hysteria](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15500589) by [MudaMuda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MudaMuda/pseuds/MudaMuda)




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